


Handle with Care

by SparklingGanymede



Category: Free!
Genre: Face-Fucking, Free! Kink Meme, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Gross Sobbing, M/M, Oral Fixation, Vomiting (Non-Fetishized)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-01-21 15:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1555409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparklingGanymede/pseuds/SparklingGanymede
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matsuoka Rin was an abrasive asshole with a habit of sneaking off campus in the middle of the night, ignoring everyone around him, and crying when he thought nobody was looking. He was also smart, organized, sentimental, athletically gifted, unintentionally hilarious, and occasionally thoughtful when he wasn't actively trying to destroy himself.</p><p>Seijuurou just wanted to catch him before he ran off the rails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fragile

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this prompt](http://iwatobiswimclub.dreamwidth.org/1476.html?thread=1576900) from the kinkmeme.
> 
> Potentially triggering material to be tagged as it appears (if I end up actually taking it that far).

The first time they met, they didn't even see each other's faces.

Seijuurou had just pulled the zipper down on his fly and whipped his dick out when somebody slammed the bathroom door open so hard the inside handle cracked a tile on the wall. The resounding impact literally scared the piss out of him, which was perfectly fine since he'd planned on doing that anyway, and the only glimpse he got of the perpetrator before the guy burst into the closest toilet stall was a flash of red hair. He had no time to wonder why the redhead didn't bother closing the stall door behind him before the retching began.

Under normal circumstances, Seijuurou would've finished his business as quickly as possible and left the guy praying to the porcelain goddess in peace, but once the initial round of vomiting ended, a choked sob stopped him dead in his tracks. Then, the guy let out a loud cough, probably a vain attempt at covering it up.

Without taking a single step closer (because the situation was already awkward enough without either of them talking), Seijuurou leaned over just far enough to see the other's shoes, neither of which were planted flat on the floor. If the sniffling and labored breaths were any indication, their owner wasn't planning on getting up anytime soon.

“Dude, you okay in there?” Seijuurou tried to sound gentle and genuinely concerned but ended up cringing at the loudness of his own voice. Public bathroom acoustics were the worst.

The ill student huffed like he was going to reply, and then he lurched, coughed like there was something lodged in his throat, and spewed some more. Seijuurou thought he heard a whispered plea for mercy before the eventual lull of ragged breathing and spitting. Cautiously, he crept forward a couple tiny steps to see if a clearer view would help him recognize the guy, but his only clue remained a wild mop of unfamiliar red hair that was a distinctly different shade from his own.

Being a third year student and captain of the swim team, he felt confident that he knew all the other third years and most, if not all, of the second years. This being the first day of classes, he had only met a handful of the incoming first years. Never having seen the new student before, Seijuurou wrongly assumed him to be one of them.

“Seriously, do you need someone to go with you to the nurse's office? It's right up the—”

“Fuck off,” the kneeling redhead snapped. Rather than the harsh intimidation he was likely aiming for, however, the words tumbled out tired and pitiful.

Seijuurou could only feel deeper sympathy for him. “Hey, I was just trying to be nice, man. You're not gonna make many friends here with that attitude.”

Electric Raspberry 15R sniffed and spit again. “I didn't come here to make friends. Now, leave me alone already. Class starts in four minutes and I'm—” He coughed suddenly and heaved, but nothing came out.

Even though the new kid couldn't see it, Seijuurou shook his head.

_Some people._

Still, he didn't feel right just leaving a fellow student alone in a state of misery like that. And then he remembered that he had enough change in his pocket for a bottle of water from the downstairs vending machine.

_Four minutes._

He received only a handful of questioning looks while rushing to bring the bottle back into the boys' room.

Sure enough, the miserable freshman was still there, kneeling in approximately the same position. Only this time he was outright raining tears, hiccuping loudly between each whimpered sob like he couldn't get enough air in his lungs and white-knuckling the toilet seat as if it were the only thing he had left in this world. Either he hadn't heard door open or he simply didn't care because he showed no signs of stopping.

Having figured that the guy held no interest in opening up about his issues within the next two minutes and also being aware that showing up late would make a terrible first impression on his English teacher, Seijuurou made a snap decision and fished around in his pocket.

Pencil, eraser, stopwatch, coins... a loose stick of gum...

_Sharpie!_

Ripping the cap off with his teeth, he rolled the bottle around in his hand to find the clearest writing space, wiped the beading condensation off with the cuff of his sleeve, and scribbled down his room number with an added “If you wanna talk about it” below. Then, he approached the sobbing hot mess in front him like a growling rabid dog and _very carefully_ set the water down at his feet.

 

* * *

 

The second time they met, Seijuurou hadn't actually expected the knock on his door.

It was well after swim practice had ended, almost time for curfew. He was pretty sure they weren't allowed to have visitors this late, but since he had signed up to be the floor's room adviser and told all the team's new recruits that they were free to come to him with any concerns about adjusting to life at the academy, answering was pretty much a requirement. So, he put on his most welcoming senpai smile and hopped up to open the door.

“Good evening! I really hope this isn't a complaint about room assignments,” he joked with a chuckle.

His visitor glared at him with the most intense red eyes he'd ever seen and deadpanned, “No, this isn't about room assignments.”

“Oh.”

The guy radiated an aura of intense negativity, and everything about him practically screamed to be ignored. He wore his plain black hoodie zipped all the way up and his black baseball cap tipped so low that his eyes, piercing despite the dark circles of apparent exhaustion, barely showed from underneath. The tightness of his frown sharpened the angles of his face in a way that sent chills down Seijuurou's spine.

Then, a flash of movement drew his attention as his prickly visitor procured a half-empty water bottle from seemingly out of nowhere, and—oh, hey, that looked like _his_ handwriting in felt-tip marker on the side of it!

Having picked up Seijuurou's sudden shift in interest, he flipped the bottle in his hand and his eyes softened.

“I almost threw it away, but then I saw the number and...” With a slight incline of his chin, he gestured over his shoulder and said, as if merely admitting the fact were physically taxing, “Looks like we're neighbors.”

“So, _you're_ Nitori's elusive roommate!” Seijuurou couldn't help his gleeful expression at the revelation.

Also, it reminded him that he still needed a copy of the floor's room assignment list before the first residence hall inspections, but that was something he could take care of in the morning.

Across-the-hall floormate quirked his lips at the burst of excitement. “Uh... yeah.”

“So, what's on your mind, neighbor?”

“About that offer of yours...” he trailed off and gritted his—

Was that a play of the light or were his teeth _really that pointy?_

Only slightly perturbed by it, Seijuurou continued grinning jovially. “Yeah? How 'bout it?”

The cold glare came back for an encore, and the guy reached out, snatched Seijuurou's wrist, and shoved the bottle into his open palm. “Stay. Out of my business.”

The senior could only gape and stare incredulously as his sour-faced junior abruptly turned on his heel and disappeared behind a door not two meters away from him.

 _Well_ then.

 

* * *

 

Their third encounter, Seijuurou finally got to learn the asshole's name.

As a matter of principle, he showed up to class extra early to review his notes and hopefully make up for nearly missing the bell and having to scramble to his seat at the last second the day before. A couple other ambitious students had the same idea, but the room was otherwise devoid of life.

For a few seconds, anyway. Seijuurou only halfway paid attention to the footsteps and subsequent hushed conversation between his teacher and whom he assumed to be another faculty member, considering that they were both speaking fluent English and Samezuka had two English teachers in their foreign language department.

Except... that second voice didn't sound at all like his teacher from last year, and he knew for a fact that the strange man from Canada was still teaching at the academy. Had they hired a third?

He finished highlighting a swath of text that he couldn't quite puzzle out so he'd remember to ask about it later and actively picked up a few key words and phrases from the conversation because curiosity got the better of him, and he needed to practice listening comprehension anyway, right?

_'I believe you, but it still counts as an absence for yesterday.'_

_'I know. I understand.'_ The second voice sounded so dejected, it made _him_ feel bad.

_'Please don't make a habit of this, okay?'_

_'I won't! I promise. I'm really, really sorry.'_

_'Pinkie promise?'_

The next few exchanges between Ms. Reeves and her male colleague were so low that Seijuurou couldn't make out any of it. Just what the hell were they over there making habits of?

Then, papers rattled, and Ms. Reeves continued at a discernible volume, _'Alright, I arranged the seating in alphabetical order, and you said you were...'_

“Matsuoka Rin.”

Seijuurou's head snapped up at that. She'd been talking to a _student?_

Sure enough, the guy standing next to her sported the same white Samezuka uniform as he did.

And an increasingly familiar shade of vibrant red hair. How a first-year student could even get in this class, he hadn't the slightest, but his interest was definitely piqued.

 _'Matsuoka. That would put you...'_ Ms. Reeves hummed and ran a finger down her seating chart. _'Right in front of Mikoshiba.'_ She looked up at Seijuurou and smiled. _'And it looks like he's here early today.'_

Matsuoka followed her line of sight, and then his jaw dropped comically. The school's dingy fluorescent lighting confirmed that, yes, all of his teeth really were that damn pointy.

_Fascinating._

He put on that same scowl from last night that made all the hairs on the back of Seijuurou's neck stand up and muttered something under his breath.

_'Hey, I'll have none of that language in my classroom, young man!'_

Startled by the unexpected scolding, Matsuoka blanched almost as pale as his blazer.

Without looking up to see his reaction, Ms. Reeves calmly marked something down in her grade book before grinning. _'This is Advanced Conversation. English only.'_

He seemed to relax at that, but only just so.

 _'Besides, I wouldn't insult him too much,'_ she continued sweetly. _'He's going to be sharing his notes from yesterday with you. Right, Mikoshiba?'_

Taking his cue, Seijuurou beckoned the other, much more sullen redhead over. “Nice to see you're feeling better today, neighbor!”

Rather than the chilling glare he'd been most expecting in return, however, Matsuoka hesitantly met his gaze and quickly averted his eyes to the floor. Gnawing on his bottom lip with those ridiculous pearly white razors of his, he seemed to be either contemplating something really confusing or grappling with indigestion. Maybe both.

Then, he sighed and mumbled a defeated _'Thank you'_ before shuffling over to his seat, depositing his books on the desk, and sitting down on the side edge of the chair like it had been constructed entirely of needles.

“We did class introductions and reviewed some stuff from last year, so you didn't really miss much, but...” Seijuurou flipped the page back to the beginning of his notes and held the notebook out over his desk.

Still avoiding eye contact, Matsuoka accepted it with both hands and propped his wrists against his knees. For the longest moment, he said nothing, didn't even move. Then, he curled a finger up under the top corner of the page as though he intended to turn it to the next and just. Stopped.

The angle of his head suggested that he was attempting to read what was written on it, but what little of his eyes Seijuurou could see though the hair framing his face looked glassy and unfocused.

“Um. Do you... need some help?”

No response.

Seijuurou wasn't even sure if he was still _breathing_.

More than just a little concerned, he reached out and tapped Matsuoka on the shoulder, whispering a quick, “Hey, what's the matter?” to get his attention.

At that, the other jolted so suddenly that the notebook nearly slipped from his grasp. Then, he glanced over at Seijuurou like he'd been caught doing something disgusting. The expression was fleeting, however, Matsuoka recovering in a single fluid motion by raking a hand through his hair and draping his arm casually over the back of the seat. The cool smirk he put on was almost convincing.

Almost.

Acting as though the previous bids for his attention had never occurred, he pointed at the highlighted sentence that had been giving Seijuurou trouble earlier. “What's this?”

Before Seijuurou could offer an explanation, though, the bell rang, immediately severing whatever connection he could've hoped to establish in that moment, and Ms. Reeves started calling roll. Matsuoka handed the notebook back and turned to face the front of the room.

 _'Okay, everyone's here today,'_ Ms. Reeves said once she had finished, more to herself than her students. She then stepped away from the podium and approached the blackboard. _'Good morning, class.'_

 _'Good morning, Ms. Reeves,'_ the class answered in unison, save for a few who either called her “Reeves-sensei” or said nothing at all.

Then, she picked up a stick of chalk and started writing:

_SPEECHES TODAY_

Pointing at the words with the chalk still in hand, she continued in accented Japanese, “Yesterday, your assignment was to write one hundred words about something you did this winter to present to the class today. You will be graded on correct usage of vocabulary words and proper verb forms.”

Then, she set the chalk down and took a seat at the teachers' desk. Flipping a page in her grade book, she dug out the pen shoved down in the spiral binding and announced, “Since we did our class introductions in alphabetical order, today's speeches will be given in reverse alphabetical order, starting with Yamamoto-kun.”

One by one, the students all stood at the front of the class to tell of their winter adventures, some far more proficiently than others. Most of the stories involved New Year's celebrations, Christmas gift exchanges, or Valentine's dates with their sweethearts, though one guy described how the family cat set their Christmas tree on fire and almost burned down the house, which was both hilarious and sad.

Seijuurou's speech was significantly less interesting. He had taken his little sister shopping and bought her a new scarf. To make it fit the required word count, he padded it with several unnecessary modifiers that may or may not have been in the right order. When he finished, Ms. Reeves marked down his score and nodded.

 _'Thank you, Mikoshiba. You may be seated.'_ As soon as he moved to return to his desk, her attention shifted to the student in front of him. _'Matsuoka, if you would...'_

 _'Yes, ma'am.'_ Matsuoka stood to approach the front like all of the previous students had, but Seijuurou caught a glimpse of his blatant apprehension as he passed by.

 _'Our first day introductions were merely an exercise to determine everyone's skill level,'_ Ms. Reeves began gently once he'd turned to face the class. _'But since you missed yesterday, why don't you tell us a little about yourself and what winter is like in Australia?'_

At the suggestion, Matsuoka looked positively _horrified_ , which was perplexing because the guy was easily the most advanced speaker in class.

 _'Aus... tralia?'_ he stammered.

_'You studied in Sydney last year, right?'_

_'Yes. I did, yes ma'am.'_ He looked a little queasy, but continued speaking regardless.

He told the class that he had spent four years attending a school internationally known for educating world-class swimmers and transferred to Samezuka at the beginning of March, which raised more questions for Seijuurou than it answered. Then, he informed everyone that winters in Australia occurred during Japanese summers, Australian summers were brutal, and anyone who thought of escaping winter by vacationing down under should seriously reconsider. He also said something about drop bears and hoop snakes being completely fictional despite what any Australian native might insist, but Seijuurou had zoned out by then, trying to imagine why anyone who had studied abroad for so long at a prestigious swimming academy would transfer to Samezuka without joining the swim club.

_'Okay. That's one hundred and eight, and you've got a strong grasp on complex sentence structures. Very good! You may be seated.'_

Matsuoka didn't look the least bit relieved as he returned to his desk, but since they were still in the middle of class, there was nothing Seijuurou could do to comfort him.

The rest of the students' speeches took up the majority of the lecture, but Ms. Reeves made sure to use the remaining two minutes to give them a reading assignment with a set of conjugation tables stapled on the back. There were only a handful of students who left to move to a different classroom when the bell rang, and Matsuoka was one of them, which made sense because he was an underclassman but left Seijuurou with an inexplicable feeling of disappointment as he watched the other gather his books and stand.

“Hey, Matsuoka.”

He paused, clutched his books against his chest in a way that seemed oddly childlike, and brushed a stray hair out of his face. “Hmm?”

And that's when Seijuurou could really see it open and up close. He didn't look nearly as haggard as he had during their last confrontation, but Matsuoka was definitely still feeling a little run down. Whether it was from ordinary sleep deprivation, physical illness, or whatever had made him cry the day before, Seijuurou couldn't be sure, although he suspected it to be a combination of all three. Which, if that were true, would make his surly junior all the more pitiable.

“Since our rooms are right across from each other, why don't we go over the reading together tonight?” He hoped it came off as a completely good-natured casual invitation.

Then, Matsuoka did that thing where he knitted his eyebrows and sawed at his lip with those shark-like dental disasters. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

But Seijuurou received no further explanation before the other turned heel and hurried out the door.

 

* * *

 

As he would later come to find out, Matsuoka's various forms of verbal commitment could be translated as follows: No meant maybe, yes meant maybe, and maybe meant campus security would be knocking on his door around half past curfew to inform him that he'd forgotten to lock the outside entrance to the natatorium and that three students from a nearby high school had broken in to have an impromptu night swim with Matsuoka, who had somehow managed to sneak out undetected until he got into a shouting match with them.

When he had accepted the responsibilities of being both the swim club captain and a room adviser, this was not at all what Seijuurou had pictured he'd have to deal with, especially not for his second night on the job. Also, he specifically remembered locking the natatorium right after practice because Nitori had been with him when he'd done it, but arguing that with security would likely have gotten him into more trouble, so he dropped it and promised to be more thorough in the future.

Matsuoka, walking in soon after Seijuurou's tongue-lashing looking damp and pissed off, was given a stern warning and told that the academy's pool was for PE and swim club practices only. He apologized something stiff, formal, and probably insincere before digging around in his pockets for his room key.

Once security finally left them alone, Seijuurou leaned against the door frame and loudly cleared his throat. “So, what happened to our study session?”

Matsuoka froze and clenched the key so tightly that his entire fist turned white. “I didn't say _yes_ ,” he replied with an edge hard enough to cut diamonds.

“You didn't say _no_ , either,” Seijuurou countered, and that's when Mastuoka whipped around and shot him The Glare.

“Yeah, that's what _maybe_ means,” he snapped defensively, though he kept his volume low enough to avoid disturbing their sleeping neighbors.

Seijuurou fired back with the stoniest glower he had in his arsenal, which didn't seem to phase Matsuoka in the slightest. “Don't get cute with me.”

Then, Matsuoka balled his empty hand into a fist tight enough to match the other and snarled. “Do I _look_ cute to you?”

“Well, you did until you made _that_ face.”

He had wanted it to sound much more offensive than it did because even he had a limit for how much shit he was willing to put up with from any one person, but Seijuurou found it hard to stay angry with a guy who looked like he'd been stung by a bee every time someone pulled the metaphorical rug out from under him.

It really did look kinda cute.

Taking advantage of Matsuoka's unguarded silence, Seijuurou asked him plainly, “Did you even do the assignment before you ran off and got both of us in trouble?”

He at least had the decency to look ashamed as he quietly admitted that no, he actually hadn't.

“Well, since we're both up, how about we do that now?”

“Shouldn't we be going to bed?” Matsuoka eyed Seijuurou like he'd suggested they go base jumping, and then apparently thought better of it as he followed up with, “And why haven't _you_ done it yet?”

“First of all, I seriously doubt you're cooled off enough for sleep after a swim like that,” he explained, indicating Matsuoka's professional grade swimwear. “And second of all... I was going to do it in the morning before class.”

Matsuoka gave him a raised eyebrow that clearly conveyed his disbelief. “Yeah, I'm sure you were.”

Then, something about his flippant attitude finally struck a nerve. Here this guy had already missed a day of class, broken curfew, and gotten into a fight with boys from another school—all within the past _48 hours_ —and he still had the audacity to suggest that Seijuurou would skip homework like some delinquent.

His harsh retort shot out before he had a chance to catch himself. “Are you mentally incapable of having a single conversation without being a fucking smartass?”

So much for keeping it civil.

Matsuoka's ember red eyes lit up like a bonfire, and he shouted, “Are you mentally incapable of finishing it by yourself? Take a fucking _hint_ already!”

That one probably woke Nitori and the guys in 202.

If they hadn't been arguing on school property, Seijuurou could have slugged him right then and there. “Excuse me? I have been nothing but _nice_ to you for the past two days! What the _fuck_ is your problem?”

“And I've been a stone cold _asshole_ to you, but you still keep trying to be my fucking friend! What the fuck is _your_ problem? What the hell do you _want_ from me?!” By then, Matsuoka was starting to sound more hysterically confused than angry.

Which struck him as odd because Seijuurou couldn't recall a single instance where he'd ever been derisively accused of trying to befriend someone like it was some kind of social taboo. Then again, he also couldn't remember a time when he'd ever heard anyone admit to consciously and purposely being an asshole.

_I didn't come here to make friends._

Matsuoka had told him that yesterday morning while puking and crying into a lecture hall toilet. At the time, it had sounded like an off-handed remark meant to shield his pride, but once Seijuurou had a face to put it to and more context to consider for Matsuoka's shitty behavior, it had become yet another small dot forming the stippled portrait of an emotionally damaged individual.

And, naturally, it bowed his heart strings like a violin.

The guy was obviously too riled up to respond to more critical interrogation with anything other than angry outbursts, so Seijuurou made a split-second decision to soften his approach. “I just thought you might like someone to talk to since—”

“Well, I **DON'T**!”

Matsuoka's denial hammered down the hallway as his suddenly labored breathing went shallow, the tiniest bit of excess moisture collecting around the corners of his eyes. Seijuurou was honestly stunned speechless. If the entire floor wasn't awake already, by god _they were then_.

Without waiting to hear whatever else it was Matsuoka had to say, Seijuurou collared him, dragged him through the doorway, and firmly shut the door behind him. When he opened his mouth to protest, Seijuurou slapped a hand over it and slammed him against the adjacent wall where the light switch unfortunately happened to be located, accidentally plunging them in darkness upon impact.

“Are you _trying_ to wake the entire building?” Seijuurou hissed through his teeth. “If security comes back up here, I swear to _god_ I'm kicking your ass.”

The warm breaths tickling the side of his palm sped up as Matsuoka started audibly hyperventilating through his nose, and Seijuurou felt a fat drop of hot liquid trickle down the backs of his fingers.

“I'm going to let you go now,” he warned calmly. “And when I do, do _not_ start screaming.”

As promised, Seijuurou loosened his grip and cautiously pulled away. Then, he felt along the wall for the light switch, found it directly below Matsuoka's elbow, and flipped it back on, revealing that Matsuoka had cupped his right hand over his mouth to replace Seijuurou's and hidden the left somewhere behind his back.

Several seconds ticked by as Matsuoka silently stared at his shoes.

“Hey.” Seijuurou leaned down to meet him at eye level, but his hair obscured the upper half of his face. “Hey, look at me.”

In an apparent refusal to do so, Matsuoka merely clamped the hand on his mouth down tighter and crushed the other between himself and the wall. When Seijuurou reached up to brush the hair out of his eyes, he inhaled sharply and flinched.

_Fuck._

Seijuurou winced and took a couple steps back. “I was just exaggerating, okay? I'm not... I'm not actually going to hit you.”

But Matsuoka remained tense, and Seijuurou noted that he hadn't shielded himself as if he were expecting a blow to the face.

“You're, um... You can go back to your room now if you want. Just don't wake everybody up when you do, alright?”

When the other continued standing there and actually curled in on himself a little, he really wasn't sure what to do.

He swallowed the lump of guilt forming at the back of his throat. “I didn't hurt you, did I?”

A long silence followed before Matsuoka shook his head.

_Oh, thank god._

Seijuurou wiped off the sticky residue of Matsuoka's saliva and tears on his shorts and sighed in relief. “You gonna be okay?”

Matsuoka hesitantly lowered his hand, took a few ragged breaths, and croaked out a quiet “Yes.”

“You done being a loud, angry shithead for the night?”

His shoulders seized up and he gasped through his teeth like he'd stubbed his toe, but then he gave a quick nod.

“Mind telling me what started all this?”

The hand immediately flew back over his mouth.

“That's fine. It's okay,” Seijuurou assured him gently. “You don't have to tell me all your private personal business but... you do need to get it together. This is two nights in a row you've been outside my door looking like hell warmed over, and if I start getting complaints about your late night habits, I _will_ have to report you to housing.”

Matsuoka's left hand made a shaky reappearance to join the right covering his face, and his entire body shuddered before sliding down the wall, landing him in an awkward crouch.

“Whoa, what's up?” Seijuurou quickly knelt down in front of him. “Are you _sure_ you're alright?”

He nodded, but he was breathing way too fast again.

“You don't need to throw up, do you?”

The “No” he clipped out between breaths was so faint that Seijuurou almost didn't catch it.

“Well, I can't have you passing out on my floor, so I'm gonna need you to stand up. C'mon, I'll help.” Seijuurou loosely wrapped a hand around one of his wrists, and Matsuoka looked up at him with eyes so full of raw vulnerability that it scared him a little.

Despite his previous aversion to being touched, Matsuoka let Seijuurou pull him to his feet and didn't object to being sat on the bottom bunk or having Seijuurou keep ahold of his wrist as he sat down next to him. When Seijuurou laid a comforting hand on his back, he suddenly choked and doubled over, shaking with each silent sob until the first whimper slipped out, and then fought to hold the rest in by biting down on his fist.

“I'm sorry I got rough with you,” Seijuurou murmured as he rubbed the flat of his hand back and forth between the other's shoulders, gradually releasing his wrist.

Matsuoka immediately latched his newly freed hand onto his knee.

“As a senior and your RA, I'm supposed to be a role model, but I didn't do a very good job of that when I lost my cool.”

A tear dripped onto Matsuoka's fist and rolled down to his elbow, and then he shivered, whimpered again, and sniffled softly.

“You know, you're gonna give yourself a massive headache if you keep trying to hold it in like that.”

Then, something squeaked out of his mouth that might have been words.

“I couldn't understand a thing you just said.” Seijuurou leaned in to listen closer. “Come again?”

Whatever it was still sounded unintelligible as Matsuoka repeated himself and switched the vice-like grip of his left hand from his knee to his elbow.

Figuring his odds of being punched for it were next to none, Seijuurou wrapped both arms around Matsuoka's trembling shoulders and pulled him in. And, for once, Matsuoka did something that made sense and leaned into the embrace, sobbing full force into Seijuurou's chest as he ran his thick fingers through Matsuoka's slightly damp hair.

“It's not you,” he whispered hoarsely, which Seijuurou realized was probably the thing he'd been trying to say earlier.

“What's not me?” Seijuurou asked softly as he switched from tenderly stroking his hair to rubbing his back again.

But Matsuoka only cried harder to the point that it came out in nothing but muffled wails and heavy shuddering breaths.

Seijuurou continued in low, soothing tones, “I don't know what's got you so upset... if it was what happened with those guys in the pool... or academic pressure or... something at home...” All the suggestions seemed to wring fresh tears from Matsuoka, so he trailed off, assuming that quiet comfort was probably what the other really needed.

After a good fifteen minutes of making a sizable wet spot on Seijuurou's shirt, Matsuoka stilled and slowly lifted his head. He sniffed a load of snot as far back into his cram-packed sinuses as he could get it, blinked blearily, and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms before sighing like he could turn the waterworks back on at the slightest provocation.

“Better?”

He looked up at Seijuurou with his eyebrows drawn, bit his lip, and slumped.

“It's okay if you're not, I mean. I was just checking.”

His eyes welled up again, but the tears never fell. Instead, Matsuoka extracted himself from Seijuurou's arms and scooted back to put some daylight between them.

“Want a tissue?” Seijuurou offered lightly, like it was a fresh cup of tea or an empty seat on the train.

As if the very idea of using someone else's tissues repulsed him, Matsuoka sniffled again and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. Without waiting for him to explicitly decline, Seijuurou got up to snag a pack from the top drawer of his desk and ripped it open as he sat back on the bunk.

“It's okay,” Matsuoka protested, although it was meek and subdued. “You don't have to—”

“Yeah, it _is_ okay,” Seijuurou agreed, pulling out a tissue and then dabbing it along the wet tracks down Matsuoka's cheeks, which strangely seemed to make them wetter.

When Matsuoka clasped his hand around Seijuurou's, probably with the intention of removing it, his fingers began to tremble like before, and he squeezed. “I'm sorry.”

Seijuurou wasn't exactly sure which thing he was sorry for, so he took the lightest route possible. “Hey, you don't have to apologize. It's natural to cry when you're sad. Just means you're human.”

With his one hand tied up, Seijuurou pulled out a second tissue with the other to continue wiping off the fluids from Matsuoka's face. Matsuoka then leaned into Seijuurou's captive hand like it was some kind of security blanket and soaked up the attention like a dry sponge.

Which seemed to indicate that he was someone who liked to be touched, despite his self-professed lack of desire for friendship.

_Weird._

“When's the last time anyone's actually given you a real hug?”

“Um...” Matsuoka seemed puzzled by the question. “The day after New Year? I think. My sister caught me before I left for the airport. Why?”

“So, you haven't seen your family since you've been back in the country.”

He hesitated to answer and squeezed the shit out of Seijuurou's hand. “No.”

“There a reason you're avoiding them?”

“I don't wanna talk about it.”

“That's fine,” Seijuurou assured him. Then, he set the used tissues aside and hooked his free arm around Mastuoka's back to pull him into a tight, full contact, chest-to-chest embrace.

Matsuoka gasped but released Seijuurou's hand to awkwardly return it, and Seijuurou heard what sounded like a contented hum as he laced his fingers in Matsuoka's hair.

“You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to, but... if there's someone hurting you, you should let somebody know.”

“My mom would never do that,” he mumbled. “Or my sister.”

“And your dad?”

The length of time it took Matsuoka to answer was increasingly worrisome, but when he finally did, it was a straight punch to the gut.

“My dad's dead.”

“Oh. Shit, I'm—I'm so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. I'm over it now,” he insisted, almost as though he were trying to convince himself of the fact. Then, he huffed and dropped his arms, and Seijuurou released him to let him stand. “I... I'm gonna go back to my room. It's getting late.”

Seijuurou gave him a warm smile. “See you tomorrow?”

Matsuoka crossed his arms, tucking both hands under his fairly impressive biceps, and started grinding his teeth into his lip again.

It was a wonder he hadn't chewed it raw.

“Yeah.”

“Well, goodnight then. Sleep well.” And Seijuurou honestly wished he would. Poor guy looked like he desperately needed it.

Then, Matsuoka ambled to the door and delicately wrapped his fingers around the knob. He looked back over his shoulder for a moment before dropping his gaze to the floor and turning the knob just enough for the door to open and swinging the door open just enough for him to fit through.

His soft “good night” all but dissipated before reaching Seijuurou's ears, and the door closed behind him with a whisper-quiet click.


	2. Choking Hazard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, that escalated quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I don't have a beta, you're not supposed to post "hot of the presses", blah blah blah, but fuck it. I just finished the last sentence, and y'all have been waiting very patiently for this since last May. I've been sitting on the pot for too long, so it's finally time to shit.
> 
> Enjoy. <3

Seijuurou had barely opened his eyes the next day when a light knock sounded from his door.

There were only a handful of things he ever wanted to do first thing in the morning, and none of them involved unexpected visitors. Regardless, he hoisted himself out of bed in search of clothing because greeting people in the nude was generally frowned upon in civilized society.

Upon closer inspection, he determined that the briefs at the end of his bed had no visible stains on them, which meant they were wearable, but the shirt slung over the back of his desk chair was crusted with Matsuoka's snot and tears. So, he put on the former and threw the latter into a laundry basket by the closet.

Whoever was at the door knocked again a little louder.

“Just a minute!”

He blindly reached into the closet and pulled out the first article of clothing he caught in his fist, only checking to see that the wrinkled mass was actually a shirt before slipping it over his head. Sufficiently covered for whoever the hell thought six in the morning was a good time for _anything_ , he pulled the door open with a little more force than necessary.

Waiting on the other side was someone he probably should’ve expected by then, immaculately groomed and already dressed in his uniform, standing there frowning like he had a bone to pick. Which was immediately distressing. Though all of their previous encounters had escalated to ambiguous flashbang dramatics, Seijuurou had been _positive_ that their most recent spat ended on good terms.

“Good morning!” he greeted, forcing cheer through every strained facial muscle in his smile.

Since it was April and the gods of winter apparently decided his nipples would make better diamond cutters, a cold draft blew in from the hallway to penetrate the thin fabric of his clothes and raise every hair on his exposed skin like a field of tiny red flags.

“Uh... good morning,” Matsuoka replied hesitantly, his gaze drifting downwards. “Couldn't you have put something on first?”

“I did,” countered Seijuurou as his balls threatened to retract into his pelvic cavity.

Matsuoka quirked an eyebrow. “I can gauge the thermostat through your shirt.”

Refusing to be lured into a pointless argument about his state of dress, Seijuurou chuckled and swatted him playfully on the shoulder. “Well, quit _starin’_ so hard.”

“I wasn’t staring!” Matsuoka’s cold mask instantly melted, the glowing blush on his cheeks siphoning all the heat from his glare.

“Really? You must be familiar with a lotta nips to be using them as thermometers.”

Then, he reddened to an impossible shade of scarlet and averted his eyes down the hallway. “Y'know what, never mind. I can just—”

But as he turned to leave, Seijuurou hooked him by the arm. “Wait, I was just _messin'_ with ya. Lighten up!”

Matsuoka quickly jerked free and scowled, absently ghosting his fingers over where he'd been touched, and that was when Seijuurou realized that he had something in his hand.

Paper?

Stapled paper.

_That assignment!_

Seijuurou's eyes lit up, a bright smile dawning across his features. “Hey, you remembered!”

Matsuoka looked up at him blankly for second before it clicked, and then he glanced down at the handout. “Yeah, you... said you planned on doing it in the morning.”

Seijuurou did, in fact, recall saying something along those lines right before Matsuoka threw a shitfit and fell apart in an endless stream of ugly tears. Seeing most of his attempts at getting Matsuoka to calm down and open up fail miserably made his immediate situation feel downright surreal.

_This was actually happening._

“I did, didn't I?” Thrumming with excitement over Matsuoka's change of heart, Seijuurou seized him by the wrist and tugged him inside. “C'mon, let's _do_ this!”

“Wha— _ah!_ ” Matsuoka yelped and stumbled awkwardly to follow. “Can't you at least put on some pants first?” he pleaded.

“Yeah, sure. Pants,” Seijuurou mused as he smoothly pulled out his desk chair and indicated for Matsuoka to sit.

While Seijuurou ransacked the closet again for a pair of sweats, Matsuoka hesitantly lowered himself into the seat, sneaking a few odd glances at the senior and keeping his hands very tightly clasped in his lap as he waited.

Once the conspicuous outline of his dangly parts had been successfully shielded from the eyes of his company, Seijuurou realized that he really needed to pee and should maybe probably brush his teeth before being all up in Matsuoka’s face for however long they did this.

“Hey, I’ll be back in a minute, alright? You can get started without me if you want.”

Which was apparently what the other had decided to do in the few minutes that Seijuurou was gone because the desk top was partially visible by the time he got back. He paused in the doorway to watch as Matsuoka, frowning in disapproval, unearthed a bent-up copy of the handout from somewhere within the mound of books, which he then started shelving in order by subject, carefully setting aside the loose papers and notebooks that had been crammed in between them.

Though his visibly frustrated kouhai seemed completely oblivious while struggling to find a tidy place for the loose materials, Seijuurou felt no need to announce his return before dragging over the chair from the second desk to join him. Tapping on his shoulder to get his attention, Seijuurou smiled when Matsuoka met his eyes. Then, he gently relieved him of the stack with one hand and flopped it onto the other desk, keeping a straight face as it immediately toppled and two of the notebooks slid into the floor, a few stray leaflets fluttering down in their wake.

Matsuoka gaped for a second, his eyes flitting between Seijuurou’s unfaltering smile and the fresh mess on the floor.

“You had breakfast yet?” Seijuurou asked, completely ignoring Matsuoka's silent indignation.

“Um... no?” he replied nervously, as though he wasn't sure what the correct answer was supposed to be.

Seijuurou completely ignored that, too, and wrenched open the bottom drawer where he kept a box of protein bars that often came in handy when he was running late or didn't feel like looking for actual food. He grabbed two, rolled the drawer shut with a loud clank, and slapped one down in front of Matsuoka, who just sort of stared at it while Seijuurou unwrapped the other one.

Matsuoka plucked his from the desk, raising an eyebrow skeptically as he read the label. “Chocolate?”

“Tastes a bit more like lightly sweetened clay, but eh. It has nutritional content.” Seijuurou shrugged and bit off a sizable chunk.

“Right...”

Matsuoka put it back down exactly where he had picked it up from and pushed it to the edge of the desk with his index finger. Then, he laid out the crinkled copy of the assignment in front of Seijuurou, who really probably should have put it in a folder or something at some point.

“So, we're supposed to read this and do the exercise on the next page. And she gave us _this_ —” Matsuoka ripped off the chart on the back of his own and set it between them. “—to reference for the irregular verbs in past perfect.”

Seijuurou squinted at it appraisingly. “Man, past perfect is such a load of shit.”

“If you think that's bullshit, you should see future perfect progressive,” Matsuoka quipped coolly as he pulled a pen out of his pocket.

The protein bar made it only halfway to Seijuurou's mouth for his next bite. “That's a real tense?”

“Yes.”

“You're shitting me.”

“I shit you not,” Matsuoka insisted, perfectly straight-faced. “They just keep _tacking on particles_.” And he must’ve read some of the confusion in Seijuurou’s eyes because he then followed up with, “Here, I'll show you.”

He clicked his pen and flipped the chart over to write on the back:

_I will go to class._

“Future tense, right?”

Seijuurou recognized that one. Easy enough. “Yeah.”

He looked on to see just where in the hell this was going because if yesterday had been any indication, Matsuoka was about as smart as English grammar was dumb.

Pen hit paper again.

_I will be going to class._

“Future progressive.”

Though he'd never bothered to learn it, Seijuurou _did_ remember seeing the weird tense at one point and not liking it one bit. “Okay.”

Ink flowed into yet another conjugation.

_I will have gone to class._

“Future perfect.”

“Wait, what the fuck?” There was absolutely nothing perfect about that at all.

Matsuoka looked up at him with something akin to sympathy. “Yeah, I thought that, too, when I first saw it. Ridiculous, huh? But when you combine the progressive form with that, you get...”

He quickly jotted down one last sentence. Then, the top of his pen went straight between his teeth, and he propped his elbow on the desk, resting his cheek against his palm to observe Seijuurou's reaction.

_I will have been going to class._

The pen clicked lightly against his incisors as he named the last tense, “Future perfect progressive.”

Seijuurou blinked at it. Blinked at it, frowned, and quickly flipped the sheet back over. “ _No_.”

Matsuoka snorted in amusement, a soft giggle slipping out. The tiniest indentations formed around the corners of his lips as they pulled back into a… smile? Suddenly, Seijuurou was hyper aware that he had never actually seen the guy look even remotely happy before. It was... not quite what he would call _eerie_ but definitely strange.

Motherfucker had some obscenely cute dimples.

“Right. We should probably do the actual assignment.” As quickly as it had appeared, Matsuoka's smile faded to a much less lively expression that Seijuurou would later come to recognize as his Serious Business face.

The reading, as it turned out, was a short essay on the usage of common colloquialisms that Seijuurou gave absolutely zero shits about. Matsuoka, on the other hand, seemed utterly fascinated with it. It didn't show so much in the way that he drolly read aloud the cut-and-dry paragraphs of pure, saturated infodumping as in the unmistakable flicker of light in his eyes as he stumbled upon a few words he'd never heard before. Predictably, the words Matsuoka didn't recognize, along with several that he had, were the ones listed at the bottom of the page for review.

When he flipped the handout to the nearly blank second page and skimmed the instructions at the top, his eyes widened. “Oh...”

Seijuurou did not like the tone of that oh. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Frowning, Matsuoka wrinkled his nose. “Nothing, just. We have to come up with a sentence for each one of these words, and there are twelve of them.”

For a brief moment, Seijuurou seriously hoped that Matsuoka had suddenly developed acting skills and a sick sense of humor. But when he turned to the second page to see for himself, the incredibly short instructions, including the dozen pairs of pre-printed lines provided below them, confirmed exactly what he'd been told.

“Hey, that's not... _so_ bad...”

Okay, so he couldn't even convince _himself_ of that. He had thirty minutes until he needed to be down by the pool for morning practice, and he was still wearing what probably would have passed as his pajamas if he actually wore any. Technically, he could fire off a mass text and cancel it, but cancelling the year’s first morning practice would have also looked really bad on him as a captain.

_Two days._

Well, three now.

 _Three days_ , and he was already starting to feel the pressure.

Matsuoka seemed to be picking up on it, too.

“She'd probably notice if we had the exact same sentences,” he mumbled, implying that he'd be totally okay with copying each other's work, though probably just for the sake of getting it done on time. He raked the cap of his pen along the tops of his bottom teeth and bit down hard enough to make it split. “Alright, I already knew nine of these, so if you can just come up with two things for the other three, I think we can do this.”

“Wait, what?”

Sometime between the beginning of their study session and the point when Matsuoka shifted in his seat to circle three of the words on Seijuurou's handout, the pen had been ravaged completely in bite marks.

“If you do these, I'll do the rest,” he explained, his lips gliding over the dangerous points behind them.

Of course, Seijuurou only noticed things going into his classmate's mouth because none of the words coming out of it were making any sense. If he'd heard everything correctly, that meant Matsuoka's suggestion for divvying up the homework would leave Seijuurou with a much lighter load to carry, a tiny fact that he was quick to point out as though the other had suddenly forgotten how to count.

“Don't worry about it,” Mastuoka assured him, albeit with a noticeably anxious timbre that came out of nowhere. “I owe you one anyway.”

“Owe me one?” Seijuurou wasn't aware that anyone had been indebted to him lately. “For what?”

As soon as he asked, though, he remembered the chill in Matsuoka's eyes the first time they met face-to-face. He knew _exactly_ what this was about, and Matsuoka was _so_ not about to start wallowing in guilt over it because Seijuurou wasn't that kind of guy.

“Um...” Matsuoka snatched up the breakfast offering that he had previously declined. “For the dirt-flavored protein bar. Okay? That makes us even.”

It was a flimsy excuse, and Seijuurou knew it, but he also really wanted to make it through an entire day without seeing Matsuoka lose his shit, and if that meant humoring his paper-thin defense, well...

“Okay, fine,” he conceded. Then, he raised his eyebrows and pointed at the untouched food item in the other's hand. “But you at least gotta eat it.”

At that, Matsuoka froze stock still, all but confirming that he had zero intentions of ever so much as tasting it. After a tense pause, during which he was probably cobbling together more translucent excuses, he apparently chose to take the condition of Seijuurou's acceptance as a personal challenge. Staring into Seijuurou's eyes with an intensity that usually signaled an oncoming verbal assault, he deftly peeled away the wrapper, hollowed his cheeks to vacuum the contents halfway into his mouth, and bit down slowly until his teeth met, not even blinking as he effortlessly swallowed the finger-length portion.

As Matsuoka crammed what was left of it between his lips and sucked a smudge of chocolate off the side of his thumb with a light, wet pop, Seijuurou got that familiar shivery feeling down his spine.

Dark lashes fanned over the thin rings of fire circling Matsuoka's pupils as he chomped down on the rest of it, and then he nonchalantly tossed the wrapper, picking up his pen as if his weirdly suggestive display wasn't at all weird or suggestive.

Seijuurou's lungs chose that moment to remind him that he needed to breathe in order to not die. Feeling the heat rise to his face, he carded a hand through his hair and cupped it over his mouth as he leaned against the desk, unsure if he should feel repulsed or uncomfortably aroused.

Because that?

Was _fucking unnecessary._

Staring down at the empty hand resting on his thigh, he mentally compared it to the length of a protein bar while the swift, punctuated whispers of a ballpoint filled the lapse in conversation.

“Am I doing this by myself now?” Matsuoka pressed lightly, though he sounded more amused than irritated. It was hard to tell with his eyes still trained on the paper.

“Um.” Seijuurou stood from his chair, acutely aware of how embarrassingly flustered he must've looked. “Would you…?”

Then, Matsuoka paused his writing and looked up expectantly with that damn pen between his teeth.

“Would you… like something to wash that down with?”

 

* * *

 

Seijuurou spent the rest of the morning filling his thoughts with fluffy kittens, naked grandmas, and pretty much anything he could come up with that wasn't a vivid fantasy of painting Matsuoka's lips with his seed because that was obscene and dirty and wrong, and he was totally not going to take advantage of his depressed, lonely kouhai, even if the guy probably did need a dick in his mouth.

He had morals, after all.

So, when classes broke for lunch and he left to meet up with a few of the guys, he had absolutely no intention of including Matsuoka.

In fact, he couldn't recall ever _seeing_ Matsuoka anywhere near the cafeteria during the entire month that the other had allegedly been enrolled. Granted, he never paid enough attention to catalog every single face in the crowd at all times, but a stranger as striking as Matsuoka would've been hard not to notice.

Or maybe that was just his recently questionable sexuality talking.

Still, even _Nitori_ rarely saw the guy.

Come to think of it, Matsuoka’s phantom existence should’ve been virtually impossible, given his bizarre transfer circumstances. Shouldn't Seijuurou have heard at least _one_ rumor at some point? Raging asshole with terrifying shark teeth? Local douchebag back from four years abroad? Freshman speaking perfect English and probably making fun of everyone while talking to the teacher?

 _Something_ should've blipped on the radar.

But it was like Matsuoka hadn't existed until two days ago.

The explanation, as it would seem, lay beneath a sakura tree between the lecture hall and the student center.

Seijuurou never actually saw Matsuoka sitting there alone, peacefully leaning against the trunk of the tree as he read a book and picked at a bowl from the market. That was what Matsuoka would later tell him he'd been doing before Seijuurou, taking a shortcut across the greenest part of campus to reduce the distance between himself and food, literally stumbled upon Matsuoka’s secret hiding spot.

It happened too fast for him to register what exactly he’d tripped over, but Matsuoka’s surprised shriek distracted him just long enough for the ground to serve him a mouthful of fresh greens. As he lay there spitting out the blades and mentally assessing his probable bruises, he became aware of an irritating wetness bleeding through the sleeve of his blazer.

“Are you okay?!”

Seijuurou groaned and cracked an eye open.

“Shit shit _shit!_ ”

Matsuoka was waving a paperback around in the air, drops of reddish liquid flying from the corners of its pages. Similarly, the front of his uniform was a dripping, tacky mess decorated in noodles and limp vegetable bits. With a momentary inspection, Seijuurou determined that the same red liquid had been what splattered on his sleeve.

He brought a hand to his face to remove the sakura petal stuck under his chin and considered the irony that, for once, his own carelessness had turned the tables in terms of day-ruining surprises.

_‘Oh my god!’_

Suddenly, Matsuoka was kneeling within his line of sight and offering him a hand. Seijuurou took it graciously as he pushed himself up to his knees and stood, letting out a soft chuckle as he brushed the dirt off his chest and knees.

“Matsuoka! Fancy meeting _you_ here.”

But giving Matsuoka a reassuring grin didn’t seem to lessen his concern any.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Nah, I’m fine.” Seijuurou held up his stained sleeve and shrugged. “Just a little sticky.” Then, he pointed at Matsuoka’s red-speckled everything. “We should probably get cleaned up before class starts back, though.”

Matsuoka sighed, looking down at his front. “Yeah…”

“I’ll walk with you,” Seijuurou offered while the other stooped to collect his things.

He sighed and rolled his eyes as he awkwardly arranged the empty bowl, dirty chopsticks, and ruined book in the crook of his elbow. “We’ll be going in the same direction _anyway_.”

Seijuurou slung an arm around his shoulders. “Exactly! And after we’re done changing, I’ll get you something to make up for those noodles.”

“You’re just _determined_ to feed me today, aren’t you?”

“Something wrong with that?”

“Well, no, but.” Matsuoka frowned. “It’s just that you’ve been so… weird and generous, and I…” He did that thing where he bit his lip and stared off sadly into the distance.

_Not today!_

“You helped me with English this morning,” Seijuurou countered, which was completely truthful. He had never been made to feel so stupid by an underclassman before, and Matsuoka wasn’t even trying.

“But that—”

“— _And_ ,” he continued, “Ms. Reeves didn’t suspect a thing when we read our sentences out loud.”

Matsuoka huffed. “But—”

“Do you even realize how fast you conjugate irregular verbs?”

“I—”

“You’re completely fluent, aren’t you?”

“That’s—”

“ _Amazing._ Here, let me help you with that b—”

“ _Mikoshiba-senpai_.”

Seijuurou’s heart stopped, and he almost dropped Matsuoka’s novella.

The bitter loner had made it three days without addressing his senior by name, and finally hearing the word _senpai_ come out of his mouth somehow felt like a major upgrade.

“Yes…?”

“It’s, um.” Matsuoka reached out, chewing his lip again, and hesitantly curled his fingers. His face flushed red as a beet. “You—you really don’t have to…” Then, he gently pulled the book back. “I got it.”

Seijuurou let it slip from his grasp, but not without catching the title first.

_Love on the Range._

The words were in English, and he wasn’t sure what _Range_ was supposed to mean in this context, but the cover illustration showed two shirtless cowboys on horseback.

The _same_ horseback.

With the second cowboy wrapping his arms around the first’s middle, the rosy glow of the sunset illuminating their stacked physiques.

“Oh… kay then.”

Clutching the book to his stained chest, Matsuoka turned to leave and practically bolted through the foliage shielding them from the nearby sidewalk. Carefully picking his way around a slightly overgrown bush, Seijuurou followed after and took full advantage of his height to close the distance between them.

“So… Westerns, huh?” He tried to make it sound casual.

Matsuoka turned impossibly redder. “Right. Yeah, _Westerns_.”

They rounded the corner of the lecture hall to where the sidewalk made a straight shot to the dorms.

“Westerns are, uh… cool I guess. Driving cattle. Duels at high noon. Daring train heists.”

At this, Matsuoka’s shoulders dropped and he slowed down from a powerwalk to a comfortable stroll. “You like Westerns, too?” The cautious hope in his voice hung too heavy for Seijuurou make eye contact.

The last thing he wanted to do was alienate a kouhai who already felt the need to hide from everyone.

“Well, I. Haven’t really _read_ any Westerns, so. I can’t say that I _don’t_ like them.” There, that sounded neutral and noncommittal enough.

Finally, he stole a glance at Mastuoka’s face.

Rather than his usual heated glare, Matsuoka regarded him with an affectionate sort of warmth. “Do you think you would… ever wanna try it? I mean to—to see if you _like_ it.”

Truth be told, Seijuurou didn’t do a lot of reading for pleasure, and when he did, it was usually a magazine. But what could it hurt, really? Borrowing literature would certainly be more pleasant than getting yelled at and cried on.

“Sure, why not? I’m guessing you’d have some good recs for me to start out with.” He smiled at Matsuoka as they reached the entrance to the residence hall, and he could swear that the guy was _glowing_.

Matsuoka dumped his armload into a bin by the door before bursting through it, practically tearing off his shoes. He peered over his shoulder at Seijuurou as the senior followed suit. “And you want it from me?”

“Who else? You’re the one that suggested it.”

That earned him a luminescent smile as Matsuoka’s cheeks blushed a shade brighter. “Well, I—didn’t want to _assume_.” He started off towards the stairwell. “Wh-when do you wanna…?”

“Right now?” Since they were already going to their rooms.

Matsuoka caught himself on the banister as he nearly tripped on the first step.

“You alright?” Seijuurou stopped beside him to check.

Face colored a fetching fire engine red, he tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear, righted himself, and shot Seijuurou a fleeting sideways glance. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he sputtered hurriedly before taking off again.

“You sure?” Seijuurou asked his ascending posterior.

Completely ignoring his question, Matsuoka shouted down the stairwell, “Do you wanna come do it in my room or should I go to yours?”

Or at least that’s what it sounded like through the garbled echo off the walls.

“I can come get it!” Seijuurou shouted back, racing up the stairs to meet him.

By the time he made it to the top, Matsuoka was already halfway down the hall and didn’t slow down until he reached his door to unlock it. Seijuurou, on the other hand, decided that catching up to him was pointless and ambled to his door at his own pace, calmly jamming his key into the lock as Matsuoka’s door slammed shut behind him.

Stepping inside, he shed his blazer and threw it in with the rest of his dirty clothes before rummaging around in the closet for a spare. When he found it, it was slightly wrinkled from being crammed amongst so much of his other stuff, but wrinkled was better than dirty, so he slipped it on, smoothing it down the best that he could with his hands.

Then, it was time to deal with Matsuoka’s book thing, marking the first ever time that _Seijuurou_ would come knocking.

Despite his all his rushing, Matsuoka was shirtless and exactly as ripped as Seijuurou imagined he would be when he answered the door.

“Whoa, uh. If you’re not ready, I can just stay out here and wait.”

“No, I’m ready.” Matsuoka tilted his head and gave a small, coy grin. “You’re the newbie here, right?”

“Wait, what?”

Completely failing to address Seijuurou’s confusion, he tenderly clasped his hands around Seijuurou’s wrists to guide him inside, only letting go of one momentarily to close the door before resuming his hold. “Now, close your eyes,” he said with a playful lilt, sliding his hands down to Seijuurou’s elbows and squeezing a little.

“Uh… okay.” Something about the entire situation seemed _off_ , but Seijuurou did as he was told anyway.

As soon as his eyelids shut, a soft pliable warmth pressed itself against his lips, and a gentle exhale tickled his cheek before pulling away with a barely audible smack. He snapped his eyes open in time to see Matsuoka rock back down to his heels, dragging his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip as he lifted his fiery gaze from Seijuurou’s mouth to his eyes.

_That was not a book._

“Well?” Matsuoka smirked, staring up expectantly through his ridiculously long eyelashes.

Meanwhile, Seijuurou was still reeling, trying to puzzle out what exactly had led to this. “Well, _what?_ ”

“Well, what did you think? Did you like it?”

He licked his lips, hyper aware of the hands slipping from his elbows to settle on his hips, thumbs working under the hem of his shirt to brush against the bare skin underneath. “Oh… uh. I didn’t _hate_ it?”

Matsuoka frowned and quirked an eyebrow at him.

The kiss couldn’t have lasted for more than a second, but Seijuurou still felt the phantom sensation of Matsuoka’s mouth flush against his, a feather-light tingle that begged to be itched.

Seijuurou had spent all morning trying not to even _think_ about this, but here it was happening to him without any warning, consent, or explanation, overwhelming him with a million questions, the most prominent of which was, “Is it still considered taking advantage if Matsuoka comes onto me first?’

Of course, even feeling the need to _ask_ that surely had to mean _yes_.

But what would happen after _rejecting_ him? Would things go back to being turbulent and uncertain? Would Matsuoka withdraw himself even more than before?

Taking advantage of him was wrong, and reciprocating out of pity was wrong, but…

The expectant staring continued.

“I mean, um.” Seijuurou swallowed the lump forming at the back of his throat. “I think I might…”

He knew better. He _knew_ he knew better.

“…need another one? _Just to be sure_.”

One tiny kiss couldn’t hurt, though, right?

Matsuoka’s frown melted into something a little more feline. “I think that can be arranged.” He tenderly cupped the side of Seijuurou’s face and wrapped his other arm around Seijuurou’s waist to pull him closer.

Expecting this kiss to be much like the first, Seijuurou closed his eyes in anticipation, only to be taken aback by Matsuoka’s sudden voracity as he compressed their torsos together and captured Seijuurou’s lips with a force gentle but firm enough to light up every erogenous zone on his body. Suddenly, there were fingernails grazing the back of his neck and a hand squeezing right where his thigh met his ass and the tip of a tongue lightly probing along the hairline space between his lips. Just as realized that he could feel Matsuoka’s bare, hard nipples through his shirt, the other abruptly pulled away, leaving Seijuurou’s tongue to dip into nothing.

This time when he opened his eyes, feeling frankly sort of offended that he had been cut short, Matsuoka leveled him with an intensely ravenous stare that sent shivers straight down to his rapidly hardening dick.

“How about now?” Matsuoka licked his lips again and coyly twirled a lock of hair between his fingers.

Realizing that he had made a gross miscalculation, Seijuurou escaped eye contact to look out the sliding glass door on the opposite side of the room as if it knew what to do and internally panicked. Matsuoka’s message was silent but crystal clear: If Seijuurou wanted this to continue, he would have to _ask_ for it.

His mind was telling him no. His heart was also telling him no.

His dick enthusiastically vetoed both of them.

“Um, I…” He bit his lip and swallowed, gaze returning to Matsuoka. “Just one more, okay? Just… just _one_ more, and I’ll—”

As suddenly as he had cut off their last kiss, Matsuoka crashed their lips together and took a firm grasp of both asscheeks to mold his body against Seijuurou’s. Seijuurou did his best to keep up with Matsuoka’s passionately roaming hands, letting out a surprised moan when one of them found his erection, gently squeezing it through his pants and giving it a single slow stroke from base to tip. Then, Matsuoka cupped his balls and started kissing along his jawline, stopping to nip at his pulse point before sucking on his earlobe.

Matsuoka clapped his hands on Seijuurou’s shoulders and sighed, his shuddered breaths hot on Seijuurou’s neck. “Wanna try an Australian kiss?”

Confused and hyper aware of Matsuoka’s hardness pressing against his thigh, Seijuurou groaned in frustration. “Okay, fine. What’s an Australian kiss?”

Matsuoka giggled softly and whispered, “It goes _down under_.”

Before Seijuurou could figure out what the hell _that_ was supposed to mean, Matsuoka dropped to his knees and made quick work of removing Seijuurou’s belt.

_Oh._

_Oh, fuck._

When his pants fell down to his ankles, Matsuoka peered up at him earnestly but didn’t go any further.

“Wow. Um.” Seijuurou sucked in several deep breaths.

“Yeah?”

At this point, he determined that he would be completely absolved of any guilt for whatever events were about to transpire because he so totally did not ask for this at all.

“Yeah. Let’s, uh. Let’s do this.”

Eyes shining like a child on Christmas morning, Matsuoka leaned in and, with his _teeth_ , pulled down the front of Seijuurou’s briefs to let his cock spring free. Clearly liking what he found, he grinned impishly and hooked his thumbs into the waistband to pull them the rest of the way down.

Not that he was complaining, but Seijuurou was pretty sure he had never seen anyone so excited to suck a dick before.

Matsuoka wrapped his fingers around the base to hold it steady as he took a couple long teasing licks up and down the shaft, circled the tip of his tongue under the folds of Seijuurou’s foreskin, nibbled that sensitive spot below the head with his lips, and basically did everything except for actually putting it his mouth. When he pulled the foreskin down to lick the head with the flat of his tongue, Seijuurou suddenly remembered that sex was technically prohibited in the dorms, and bit down on the side of his fist to stifle a moan.

Pleased with the response, Matsuoka sat back smugly, stroking at a maddeningly slow pace with only the ring of his thumb and forefinger, and it was like fucking a tight hole with nothing in it, just enough to feel good but not enough to get him anywhere. Seijuurou groaned, the first spurts of precome dribbling down to slick up his straining cock. Apparently finding Seijuurou’s frustration amusing, Matsuoka smirked and rolled his lips over his teeth, the only warning he gave before sucking down half of Seijuurou’s length in one go.

Needing to do _something_ with the hand not muffling his embarrassing desperate whines, Seijuurou worked his fingers into Matsuoka’s silky hair, mindful not to pull and hurt him as he expertly bobbed his tight, perfect lips like he did it for a living. But when Matsuoka suddenly swallowed to take in the rest of Seijuurou’s cock, Seijuurou instinctively clenched, taking a fistful of hair with it.

Instead of protesting, however, Matsuoka moaned deep in the back of his throat, the sudden vibrations almost enough to push Seijuurou over the edge. Quick to catch on, Seijuurou adjusted his grip and pulled again, earning him another toe-curling moan, and he jerked the fist away from his mouth to brace himself against the desk.

_Dear god._

But Matsuoka’s head stilled then, and it took Seijuurou about five seconds to realize that Matsuoka had stopped to unzip his pants. Languidly pumping his own dick with his lips wrapped around the tip of Seijuurou's, Matsuoka looked him dead in the eye, clamped his free hand over the fist buried in his hair, and slowly pushed his own head down until Seijuurou’s dick disappeared completely in his mouth.

When Matsuoka removed his hand, Seijuurou took that as his cue to…

“Oh, fuck _. Wow._ Oh my god. Okay.”

He pulled out slowly, savoring every bump and ridge of Matsuoka’s tongue and palate and the soft pressure of his throat as he steadily plunged back in. Matsuoka swallowed around his head again, and Seijuurou knew immediately that he wouldn’t last very long like this. It took a few more thrusts for him to find a rhythm he felt comfortable with. Although he suspected it to be a lot more than he was giving, Seijuurou wasn’t sure exactly how hard and fast Matsuoka could take it.

Matsuoka made no complaints, however, putting on a show of how much he enjoyed it with each exaggerated moan around Seijuurou’s cock.

Without really meaning to, Seijuurou gradually tightened his grip on Matsuoka’s hair and sped up the pace, thinking nothing of who might be listening to his shouted obscenities as his knees buckled and his stomach tightened and he came so hard down Matsuoka’s throat that he knew no blowjob could ever possibly top it.

As he came down off his post-orgasmic high, Seijuurou began to realize two things: One, that his dick was still halfway in Matsuoka’s mouth and two, that Matsuoka was still vigorously pleasuring himself while keeping a tight grip on Seijuurou’s ass to hold him in place. Eyes shut tight and whimpering like it hurt, Matsuoka exhaled sharply through his nose and went rigid as he… came?

He finally released Seijuurou and groaned, panting like he’d never breathed air in his life. Slumping against the floor, he wiped his mouth with the back of his come-slicked hand. For a moment, Seijuurou felt a pang of guilt for how worn out Matsuoka looked, tears welling in his eyes, lips swollen, the sticky combination of saliva and come dripping off his chin in globs and strings.

But then he glanced up smiling, popped a wet finger in his mouth, and slurped the jizz off it like cake frosting.

“I don’t care if you want one this time or not, I’m giving you a tissue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I can't give you those minutes of your life back.


	3. Contents Under Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much emotional garbage. Seijuurou is way out of his depth and has no idea how many fathoms Rin's issues measure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I so totally didn't intend for this to be one of those "updates twice a year" fics, yet here we are. This is what I get for deciding that consistent chapter lengths of ~6,000 words was a good idea.

His smile was like a February sunrise over jagged mountain tops, crisp and glittering and beaming warm rays of relief from the cold night’s frost. His kiss, though brief, seared Seijuurou’s lips with pure blinding passion, cloaking the world around them in a mist of light floral notes.

‘Thank you.’

Matsuoka’s hands slipped away as he stepped back, taking the heat of the sun with him. Then, he turned heel and ran off between the bushes with no promise of when they might speak or see each other again.

“—shiba-kun?”

A gentle breeze swayed the branches of the sakura tree overhead, a shower of petals dusting the grass and Seijuurou’s shoulders in flecks of blush. He raised a hand to his cheek where Matsuoka’s soft fingers had been, and a crumpled-up paper ball bounced off the side of his head.

“Dude, you’re being _called_ on,” a familiar voice hissed to his left.

The plane of white in front of him wrinkled in the middle as the student wearing it heaved a sigh.

Somebody sneezed.

As the subsequent sound of nothing rang in his ears, Seijuurou looked down to find his elbow propped on top of an open book on top of a desk. The pen in his hand had stopped halfway into making the final stroke for _Matsuoka_ in the corner of his notes for what appeared to be the fifth time in a row. At the front of the room, his math teacher was pointing at an equation on the board and glaring at him expectantly.

Somewhere along the shoreline miles away, a tiny red crab scuttled across the sand to hide under a rock, only to be swept away by a descending whitecap.

 

* * *

 

“Yeah, there’s a girl in the hallway. She says she’s here to see her brother, but nobody recognizes her.”

“That’s strange. Did she say who she was?”

“She might have? Whatever, I can’t remember. But she keeps standing around staring at everyone, nobody knows what to do, and she’s not leaving. Can you go talk to her?”  
It would’ve been far easier to just inform the coach and have her removed for loitering, but Seijuurou couldn’t remember the last time he’d had the chance to talk to a girl who wasn’t his sister, and he _did_ still like girls.

That thing at lunch was just a surprise experiment, and if he repeated that to himself enough times, it would surely become true. So, when he exited the natatorium to find her, it was totally not because he needed something to take his mind off of it because it was absolutely not necessary to prove that putting his dick in a dude’s mouth didn’t instantly make him gay.

Playing it cool in an attempt to hide his desperation, he slinked up to her and purred, “Are you the girl who’s looking for her brother?”

Like there was any other girl around who _could_ be.

As she perked up and answered with a simple yes, something in her smile reminded him of Matsuoka conjugating English verbs. A strange association, but it shot a Cupid’s arrow through his heart all the same.

_Cute!_

Swept away by the overwhelming desire to cradle her in his arms, he may have accidentally said that last part out loud.

“Thank you,” she replied brightly with a slight tilt of her head, conjuring yet another vivid mental image of Matsuoka—rosy-cheeked, taming down his sex-mussed hair with his fingers—and that naturally submerged Seijuurou in a pool of _weird feelings_ because this really cute girl’s every move reminded him of _that_ guy.

Which was why it should have come as no surprise when the next words out of her mouth were, “I’m looking for my brother, Matsuoka Rin.”

It did anyway, but that wasn’t the point.

No, the point was that somewhere between the tears and the tissues, Matsuoka _had_ mentioned having a sister, and the two favored strongly enough to render Seijuurou a tangled jumble of palpitations, clammy palm sweat, and pertinent existential questions, such as ‘Exactly how gay is it that I like both this girl and my pretty male classmate?’ and ‘Am I only attracted to her because she looks like her brother, who also happens to like sucking my dick?’

More importantly, what was she even _doing_ there? Matsuoka wasn’t on the team!

And he said that out loud, too. Then, she gaped and knitted her brows like he had suddenly grown a second head, which could only mean one frustrating, unfortunate thing.

Matsuoka still hadn’t talked to his family.

“What do you mean ‘There’s no Matsuoka on the team’?”

Matsuoka’s adorable sister was completely in the dark, and Seijuurou was the only one who had even the vaguest idea what was going on. Except… even _he_ didn’t know why Matsuoka was being such an antisocial dick, and there wasn’t really anything he could do about it.

He would simply have to placate her until she left.

“I mean he’s not here. He never joined.”

“Are you sure?” Her tone sounded skeptical, but the hurt and defeat were already written on her face. “He recently transferred, so maybe you just haven’t met him yet.”

“No,” he sighed. “I’m the team captain, so I have a roster of every member, and he’s not on it.”

Then, Seijuurou tried so very hard not to picture this girl standing in a cold airport terminal as Matsuoka shook off her affections and boarded a plane without so much as a backwards glance. He tried to not picture her holding in all the loneliness and turmoil until the dam finally burst, silent tears rolling down onto her tightly clasped hands because he wouldn’t even tell her _why_.

The very thought needled Seijuurou’s heart with a heavy dose of secondhand guilt. In retrospect, he really should’ve known better. A hug and a thorough face-fucking couldn’t really fix anything, and whatever Matsuoka’s issues were, the only change involved was that he no longer took his anger out on Seijuurou.

Which, of course, begged the question of who or what he was inflicting it on instead.

 

* * *

 

Seijuurou’s first instinct was to tackle the issue at the source.

So, as soon as he changed after locking up the natatorium for the night, he marched straight across the hallway and knocked on door 210.

“J–Just a minute!” a meek voice panicked from within.

Then, he heard the distinctive metallic squeak of someone descending a bunk ladder. Seconds later, the door opened, revealing a rather flushed and disheveled Nitori.

“Captain!” he gasped, looking absolutely mortified. “I’m so sorry! I thought room inspections weren’t until Friday!”

“They’re not.” Seijuurou quirked an eyebrow, and then casually scanned the room over Nitori’s head.

The desk closer to the door looked a little cluttered compared to the rest of the room, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Nitori visibly relaxed. “Oh.”

Whatever questionable activities he had been doing, Seijuurou could worry about it later, but right then he had more pressing concerns. “I’m looking for Matsuoka.”

At the mention of his roommate, Nitori frowned, gaze dropping to the floor. “I haven’t seen him since Monday afternoon before practice.”

“Wait, seriously?” Seijuurou blinked. Was that even fucking _possible?_

Nitori let out the most suffering sigh. “He changed out of his uniform as soon as class let out and said he was going for a run. I never saw him come back, but… his stuff’s moved around, so I know he’s been in here.”

“I see.”

Or he tried to see, anyway.

Tuesday night, Matsuoka could have woken the dead with his outburst, which meant that Nitori was either a deceptively cute zombie or the heaviest sleeper to have ever walked God’s green earth, which would explain how Matsuoka could easily sneak in and out unseen. So, technically that part of the story added up.

But it seemed too perfectly timed to be unintentional. Considering the fact that Matsuoka had also managed to hide dropping out of competitive swimming from his own family and escaped being noticed by any of his classmates for at least a month, it seemed that the guy was an actual, literal ninja.

For some undetermined reason, though, he had made himself available to Seijuurou. He refused to talk to his sweet little sister and blatantly avoided his adoring roommate but had no qualms about getting on his knees for a guy he barely knew. Which made no sense whatsoever. What had Seijuurou even _done_ to earn such a high level of trust so fast?

Was it the water bottle in the bathroom while he was puking? Sharing class notes in English at their teacher’s insistence? Collaring him in the heat of the moment when they were arguing about the pool and slamming him against the

Seijuurou’s hand over his mouth.

Seijuurou’s arms pulling him flush against his _body._

Seijuurou _sensually stroking his hair._

“Shit!”

“Captain?” Nitori stared up at him, concern glistening in his brilliant blue eyes. “Is something wrong? Is Matsuoka-senpai in trouble?”

“No! No, I was just… I’ll wait until he comes back.”

 

* * *

 

Predictably, Matsuoka didn’t show up until two minutes before lockup, and Seijuurou only managed to catch him the split second his shadowy figure drifted by because the door was propped open.

He shoved a pencil between the pages of his textbook and bolted. “Hey!”

Matsuoka froze with his key lined up to the lock.

“I’ve been looking for you all afternoon. Where ya been?” Hoping against all odds that this would go smoothly, Seijuurou stopped just short of exiting his room.

Then, Matsuoka’s arm dropped, and he slumped with a heavy sigh. “Can we please not do this?”

Considering the raw edge to his voice suggesting an impending meltdown, Seijuurou almost let him off the hook.

And he probably would’ve if he hadn’t let himself get so emotionally invested in the situation. The devastation on the girl’s face at practice was like a knife to his heart, and anyone who made such a sweet, innocent angel look like _that_ needed to be corrected _immediately_.

“Your sister came by the pool earlier looking for you,” he said in his most authoritative big brother voice.

The resulting silence settled like a hard frost as Matsuoka tightened his grip on the key, trembling before suddenly cramming it into the lock and turning it with an angry clack. “So?”

Fighting back the urge to grab him up and _shake_ him, Seijuurou grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose. “She was under the impression that you were still _swimming_.” 

Then, Matsuoka wiped something off his face with the back of his hand. “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing that wasn’t true.”

He gave Seijuurou a sideways glance that quickly disappeared beneath the bill of his hat. “What. Did you _tell_ her?” he demanded, a slight crack at the end.

“She asked to see Matsuoka Rin, and I politely informed her that there was nobody by that name on the team. She looked really disappointed.”

Apparently, that was the wrong answer because Matsuoka immediately wrenched the door open and slammed it shut behind him without saying another word.

 

* * *

 

There was no knock on Seijuurou’s door the next morning.

Not that he’d been expecting it.

He went about his usual morning routine, grabbed his materials for class, and showed up. Matsuoka also showed up, but only a few seconds before the bell rang, and then he didn’t to speak to Seijuurou for the entire duration of the lecture.

Not that they needed to be talking in class anyway.

When classes broke for lunch, Seijuurou took the shortcut to the cafeteria because shortcuts were the fastest way to get anywhere, and he was definitely not disappointed that nobody was sitting underneath the sakura tree, nor did he think about going back to the dorms to see if anybody was there reading a gay Western novel.

It wasn’t like he ever made any specific plans for lunch.

He didn’t think about Matsuoka at all during swim practice, either, especially not wondering which stroke was the other’s specialty or what his times were for it or if his sister might show up again _just in case._

It would’ve been distracting and counter-productive and he was a much more focused captain than that.

So, when Nitori asked him why he seemed so distant that day, Seijuurou did not answer that question with another question about the whereabouts of his roommate, to which Nitori might have replied, “He was taking a nap as soon as I walked in,” if he had.

Among other things he did not do, he also didn’t have extra difficulty finishing his English homework that night to the point that he gave up and left half of it blank, he didn’t knock on door 210 again, and he _certainly_ didn’t terrify Nitori with the intensity of his glare upon finding out that Matsuoka wasn’t in.

He did, however, send an email to his vice captain afterwards asking him to run Friday afternoon practice while Seijuurou took care of what he was officially dubbing a Housing Dispute.

 

* * *

 

Among the actions involved in resolving Seijuurou’s Housing Dispute were sprinting to the dorms like a madman the second classes let out, regretting slacking on his land training over the winter, and hovering in the second floor hallway looking stupid while waiting for Matsuoka to show up.

Which he did by opening his door from the inside and walking out clad in what must have been his self-imposed uniform for his nightly disappearing act.

He looked just as surprised to see Seijuurou as Seijuurou was to see him, given the circumstances.

“Okay, you either had to cut class or parkour through the _balcony_ ,” Seijuurou thought out loud. “What the fuck?”

Of course, Matsuoka was ready on the offensive, trademark scowl and all. “Shouldn’t you be _swimming_ right about now?”

“Shouldn’t _you_?”

Judging by the minute twitch of his eyebrow and his ever-deepening frown, Matsuoka wasn’t expecting a comeback to his usual sarcasm.

“I’m ‘not on the team,’ remember?” he sneered before starting off towards the stairwell to go do whatever it was he did to avoid people.

“Then, _try out_ for it!” Seijuurou shouted after him. Because it seemed like the obvious solution to his angst and _why couldn’t Matsuoka just_ get _it?_

There was only a slight hitch in Matsuoka’s gait as he kept walking, but once his foot touched the first step down, he stopped. Glanced back over his shoulder. “Why should I?”

Unlike his previous snark, it was softly spoken. Cautious.

Of course, Seijuurou had no idea why Matsuoka even quit in the first place, so coming up with a convincing answer specific to his situation was a bit more challenging.

“Why not?” He spread his arms invitingly and shrugged. “Samezuka could always use new talent. You can’t lie to me and say you’re not a decent swimmer.”

As soon as he said it, though, Matsuoka’s expression hardened, and Seijuurou braced himself for impact.

“How the _hell_ would you know?” he snapped, glaring enough daggers to outfit an entire army. 

Despite his vitriol, however, he wasn’t leaving, but Seijuurou didn’t really have any actual concrete evidence to support his suspicions of Matsuoka’s swimming prowess. In fact, the only reason he even assumed that Matsuoka’s issues were swimming-related was because of the pool break-in.

That, and there was also that thing about transferring from a certain prestigious Australian academy, which was never explicitly discussed between the two of them, but Matsuoka would have to have been pretty awesome to get in there in the first place.

Clearly, this was a solid starting point.

“Well, if you kept up with all those elite _foreigners_ —”

Seijuurou didn’t even get to finish his sentence before Matsuoka ducked out of sight.

* * *

 

“You fucked up, Oniichan.”

“Yeah, I _know_ that, but I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Um, _apologize?_ ”

Even though he couldn’t hear it, Seijuurou knew there was an eye roll involved.

It had been an hour since his confrontation with Matsuoka, and the other had yet to return. Which he expected, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating. He knew that curfew on Fridays was later than during the rest of the week, and an April night would still be awfully cold and dark for Matsuoka’s typical depressed loner hours by then. What could he possibly be doing if he wasn’t going home? Wandering the streets alone? Using a fake ID to patronize seedy bars? It had Seijuurou’s insides twisted in knots, and he _hated_ it.

He had also hoped that talking to his sister about the situation would be slightly more helpful than _not at all_ , but so much for anything ever going right.

“Yeah, like _how?_ What do I even say if I don’t know what I did?”

What sounded like a locker slamming nearby exploded into his ear. “Just say you’re sorry for whatever it is you did and promise not to ever do it again.”

Cringing, Seijuurou switched hands, digging a pinky into his offended ear hole. “Does that really even _count_ as an apology?”

“It does if he accepts it.”

“ _Akane…_ ”

“Hey, you asked for my advice, and—” A loud splash crackled over the line. “—got. Whenever me and Moi-chan used to—” High-pitched shrieking echoed from a cavernous chamber, followed by a percussive crash ominous enough to silence everyone involved. “How hard can it be?”

Seijuurou sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Thank you, dear sister, for your insightful wisdom.”

“ _You’re welcome._ ”

A girly voice murmured incoherently.

“Shut up, Rikka, I do _not!_ ” Akane yelled away from the receiver. “Now, I gotta get back in the pool before my captain yells at me again.”  
Somewhere in the background, a whistle blew, and a clamoring of voices blended together like a flock of chatty seagulls. “Aka-chaaa—”

The line went dead.

Seijuurou tossed the phone onto the bed because the sight of it made him want to scream and impacted his head against the desk.

“So _stupid_.”

But Akane’s plans usually worked, and by sunset Seijuurou had decided to follow her ridiculously insensitive advice.

Sort of.

Mastuoka still hadn’t come back, so he opted for a handwritten note, which he carefully slipped under Matsuoka’s door. It read as follows:

— _I’m an idiot and whatever I said wrong, I’m sorry. Please talk to me._  
   _You don’t have to join the team if you don’t want to. I just want to see you smile again._

Of course, waiting up for Matsuoka was probably the most uneventful, boring decision he could make. He finished all of his homework, checked the hallway for signs of life, ran twenty laps around the building, took a shower, stared wistfully outside through the sliding glass door, started a new Pokémon save file, sighed wearily at least eight times, and watched an entire playlist of funny cat videos on his phone. Then, sometime after checking Mixi for the hundredth time, he blinked, and the world faded to black.

 

Upon the shocking discovery that all of his clothes had vanished and his unicorn steed was actually a hungry shark, Seijuurou startled awake to the sound of his door rattling on its hinges. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, anticipating the eventual knock or turning of a knob, neither of which happened.

_The fuck…?_

Having completely forgotten about the note within a span of 40 winks, he angrily rolled out of bed to give the offender a piece of his mind.

Except, when he jerked the door open, nobody was there. Instead, he found a small yellow square stuck to the outside:

_— Seriously? What is this, a shojo manga?_

Seijuurou sighed wearily for the ninth time and peeled it off. At least Matsuoka had acknowledged the note.

Unfortunately, Seijuurou wasn’t exactly a master of the written word. But since the sticky note was freshly stuck, that meant Matsuoka was still awake and they could potentially work this out within minutes instead of days.

He rummaged around for another sheet of paper.

_— Well, if you weren’t hiding in your shell like a turtle, we could be doing this face to face._

That seemed straightforward enough. Seijuurou didn’t even bother returning to his room after sliding it under the door, and Matsuoka must’ve been anticipating it because he heard him snatch it up immediately.

“My _what_?” Matsuoka grumbled a few seconds later. Then, he retreated to the other side of the room, and did… something. It was mostly quiet, save for the occasional paper rattling.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Seijuurou leaned in as close as he could without touching his ear to the door. It made the faint grumbling slightly more audible.

“What the fuck is that even _under?_ ” rang out clear amid the continuous stream of curses before a weighty object battered the door, the thunderous impact reporting down the hallway like a gunshot. “You _fucking asshole_.”

Seijuurou, meanwhile, had a heart attack and fell on his ass trying to escape the imminent threat of Matsuoka’s wrath as it came within centimeters of assaulting his face. Despite the surge of raw adrenaline, however, he couldn’t quite seem to move, anxiously watching the door and expecting it to be ripped off its hinges in a blaze of demonic rage at any moment.

Perhaps calling Matsuoka a turtle had been a bad move.

A minute later, the paper he’d written his note on reappeared between his feet with some additions made to it. Cautiously, as if the words themselves could bite, he reached a hand to the floor to retrieve it.

_— Your handwriting sucks._

He blinked, read it again, and flipped it over to see if there were any hidden messages on the back.

_Of course._

Matsuoka had insulted his penmanship and nothing else. The situation was so ridiculous, he could cry.

“If you can’t read my writing, then why don’t we just talk?” Tossing the paper aside, Seijuurou pushed himself off the floor and stood. “Please?”

Something in the room creaked, and then he braced himself.

A fuzzy white moth landed on the wall while he waited, the safety light above the stairwell flickering in his periphery. Downstairs, a heavy door clanged shut and something squeaked until it clicked into place. A gentle waft of air rose ripe with the scent of oncoming rain, and Seijuurou suddenly realized how cold his bare feet were in comparison to the rest of his body.

Silence crept by at the speed of a slug as the door in front of him stayed shut, and his mind began to wander. He had told Matsuoka that they didn’t have to talk about anything he didn’t feel comfortable with, but… Seijuurou at least expected an answer. A “No” or a “Fuck you” or “Leave me alone” if nothing else. Just… _something._

But he’d been so focused on getting Matsuoka to open up that the thought of being locked out had never actually occurred to him. He’d simply assumed that friendship and kindness were all Matsuoka needed to be “fixed” and that his persistence would be rewarded with mutual pleasantries if only he’d give enough.

In reality, he was standing alone in a darkened hallway with a sinking feeling in his gut because he actually had no idea how to help at all. Despite his best efforts, nothing in Matsuoka’s life had changed. The venomous insults, the dirty looks, the avoidant behavior—everything else was cast to the wind the second Matsuoka felt uncomfortable. And the last time Matsuoka looked comfortable…

Seijuurou’s blood ran cold.

“I’m sorry! Okay? I’m really sorry.” The words tumbled out like falling dominos. “I promise we don’t ever have to do that again. We can forget all about it, and I won’t tell anyone, I swear. I won’t even look at if you don’t want me to, but you… you can’t just _stay_ in there!”

The fuzzy moth fluttered an erratic path towards the stairwell light, repeatedly bumping into the fixture.

As the silence stretched on, Seijuurou imagined an entire year of staring at the back of Matsuoka’s head in class, listening to him converse apologetically with the teacher in English, watching him give lifeless oral presentations with perfect grammar.

Never saying a word to him.

_I will have been going._

He would have to pass Matsuoka in the hallway every day, the other sullenly stalking off to another hiding place without so much as looking in Seijuurou’s direction or giving him a second thought.

_Stay. Out of my business._

All Matsuoka had to do was say the word, and he could be back to sobbing in the bathroom alone, eating under a new sakura tree, and spending all of his free time in the dark blocking out the world around him because he liked it better that way, would rather do that than endure Seijuurou’s disgusting attempt at friendship.

_What the hell do you **want** from me?!_

Swallowing hard, he tried to breathe as the sickening pain of rejection seeped in. “Matsuoka… Matsuoka-kun, please don’t be like this.”

Then, the light filtering through the crack under the door went out, leaving only the lamplight from his dorm and the flickering stairwell.

That was it. End of conversation, end of friendship, and probably the end of them ever speaking to each other.

Seijuurou slumped face-first against the wall like a ragdoll. As the cool cinderblock slowly etched its unique pattern of dips and bumps into his forehead, he considered that maybe it was better that they went their separate ways sooner than later. If their friendship was doomed to fail, at least he didn’t have to give Matsuoka the inevitable “I’m going away to college, but I swear I’ll keep in touch!” spiel because he had yet to see that one end well.

Sure, he would have to wake up the next day and continue business as usual like nothing had ever happened, but he could manage. He had gotten along fine in English without Matsuoka’s help and would simply have to do it again. He had watched swim club recruits walk away before, and Matsuoka hadn’t even joined, so it wasn’t an actual net loss for the team. Failing to win over a girl who stole his heart wasn’t a new experience, either, and Seijuurou had never thought of boys that way before anyway.

The tears threatening to spill from his eyes were only a minor setback.

This was fine.

Everything was _fine_.

The sudden clack of the door unlocking startled him almost as much as whatever Matsuoka had thrown at it.

“Do whatever you want,” Matsuoka mumbled from the other side. He didn’t flip the light back on, but that seemed as clear an invitation as Seijuurou would ever get.

Successive waves of hope, fear, and nausea flooded the cavern where his heart should be. With a reverent sort of hesitation, he wrapped his fingers around the knob, turning it painstakingly slowly, and gently nudged the door open just a crack. Just enough to get his head in and see what awaited him.

The room was pitch black, save for the piercing glow of Matsuoka’s cell phone, which he appeared to be playing a game on while laying on his front under the covers.

“Can I come in?” Seijuurou whispered, shattering the silence like a firecracker.

Matsuoka didn’t budge. “Don’t touch the lights,” he answered at an unapologetically normal volume.

The knob clattered back into place as Seijuurou let go of it, carefully shutting the door behind him. There was enough light for him to see the faint outline of something laying the middle of the floor, so he picked it up to avoid stepping on it, stopping to look at the cover after realizing that it was a book. Angling it towards the miniscule light source, he strained to read the raised lettering of the title.

_10,001..._

He counted the strokes of the next part with his fingers.

Kanji?

_10,001 Kanji._

Matsuoka had been so pissed off about being called a turtle that he threw a dictionary across the room. Seijuurou couldn’t begin to wrap his mind around that one, so he set the book on the desk and approached the bed. Tucking his feet under his thighs, he plopped himself down on the floor beside it and mindfully avoided looking at whatever Matsuoka was doing.

“So…”

“Talk,” Matsuoka demanded calmly, keeping his eyes glued to the screen.

“Well, I… I already said most of what I wanted to say.” Despite the enshrouding darkness, the phone’s bluish display shone on Seijuurou like a spotlight. “I mean… obviously I did something that bothered you.”

Matsuoka’s eyes softened, and he turned the phone off. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

Seijuurou blinked at the dancing rectangular afterimage. “I still shouldn’t have—”

“You’re fine. Stop worrying about it.”

“Then, what—”

“Can we not talk about swimming?”

He suppressed the urge to ask why. “If you don’t want to… we don’t have to.”

“Good.”

The room fell silent again. Matsuoka didn’t go back to his game or attempt to otherwise add visibility to their surroundings. Instead, he huffed or something and the blankets rustled a bit.

Seijuurou shifted uncomfortably on the hard tile and tried not to think about how sore Matsuoka’s knees must have been. “So, uh. Are we cool again? Everything… back to normal?”

Or whatever passed for normal between them. Did they even have a normal? Maybe normal was too strong a word.

“Yeah.” Matsuoka rustled the blankets again, and a metallic ring echoed the slap of heavy fabric against some part of the bed frame.

Whatever Matsuoka was doing beneath the cloak of darkness, Seijuurou got the feeling that maybe he shouldn’t be in the room while it was happening. “Should I… leave now?”

Something warm—startling, at first—skimmed his shoulder, trailed up the side of his neck, and settled against his jaw. Then, a soft “No” tickled his ear. He shivered but didn’t object as what have to have been Matsuoka’s fingers worked their way into the fine hairs on the nape of his neck.

“Oh... Uh. What do you want me to do, then?”

“Stay.”

A gentle exhale rolled across his throat.

Suddenly, Seijuurou realized that he had been caught in Matsuoka’s honey trap again, and the only way out was through a door he couldn’t see.

“Like… for the night?”

The fingers on his nape slackened. “Do you want to?”

There were lips millimeters from the most sensitive part of his neck, and he knew they were so much softer and warmer than the floor mercilessly crushing his ankles. If past experience was any indication, whatever Matsuoka had in mind would probably feel _amazing_ , but…

“What if we get caught?”

_It was too soon._

Matsuoka was still running from his problems, Seijuurou was emotionally torn to shreds, and their sexually-charged friendship balanced on the edge of a misspoken word. 

Matsuoka snorted and trailed a finger along Seijuurou’s jawline. “By _who?_ You’re the RA.”

“So, you want me to abuse my authority, then.” As soon as the words exited his mouth, he realized how easily they could be misinterpreted.

Warm fingers gently cupped either side of his face, a thumb brushing across his top lip and stroking down to his chin. “You didn’t seem to mind the other day.”

“I didn’t know what we were doing,” he replied calmly despite the heat rising to his cheeks. “I thought you were giving me an actual book.”

“Really?” Matsuoka giggled, a comfortingly sincere expression of amusement.

A bud of excitement bloomed in Seijuurou’s chest. “Yes, really.”

Before he could think of another excuse to evade temptation, Matsuoka’s lips descended upon him with surprising accuracy, only pulling away after properly disorienting him with a lick of tongue behind his teeth.

“Do you know what we’re doing now?” Matsuoka drawled, his hands still cradling Seijuurou’s face.

The memory of him on his knees, feverishly waiting for permission to touch, immediately surfaced. Seijuurou had the power to refuse.

“Is this going to be a surprise like last time?”

“Only if you want a surprise like last time.”

He licked his lips, laying his hands on top of Matsuoka’s. “What if…” He gently pulled them away. “I said I didn’t want a surprise at all?”

Undeterred, Matsuoka leaned in just close enough for his lips to flutter against Seijuurou’s as he spoke. “Then, tell me how you want it.”

“I… I don’t want anything _from_ you,” Seijuurou insisted, ignoring the pulse pounding in his ears.

Matsuoka’s hands slipped out of his grip to settle on his thighs, giving them a light squeeze. “I take as well as I give.”

The memory of his cock sliding between Matsuoka’s perfect lips combined with the pressure of thumbs edging dangerously close to it in the present sent a rush of blood vital for reasoning away from his brain.

Without all the overthinking in the way, it all made a lot more sense. He’d practically begged to be let in, Matsuoka forgave him, and then Matsuoka wanted to pick up where they left off. It wasn’t a huge leap, if he thought about it that way. Being let in meant they were bonding and bonding meant they were making progress and making progress meant their friendship would become stronger.

_Simple._

They could still be friends while taking advantage of each other’s perfectly natural curiosity, right?

“You’ve never touched another boy’s dick before, have you?” Matsuoka prodded suddenly.

Blindsided, Seijuurou barely registered a hand leaving his thigh. “Um… no?”

“Have you ever even touched a girl?”

“Uh, I. I had a girlfriend in junior high—”

“So, no. Okay.”

He was going to protest that _Yes, he did get to touch her boobs through her bra once_ , but something bumped into his shoulder and traced a path down to his hand, gently gripping him by the wrist. It took him only a second to realize that the velvety smooth expanse of firm heat his fingers had been guided to was Matsuoka’s bare inner thigh. Then, Matsuoka released him, and the only physical contact between them was beneath Seijuurou’s hand. He stroked the patch of skin lightly, gave it an experimental squeeze, and delighted in the layer softness above the muscle as it molded against his touch.

“Well?” Matsuoka sounded impatient.

“You shave,” Seijuurou observed incredulously.

“Yeah?”

“And I’m guessing you’ve been naked this entire time.”

“Nice detective work, Sherlock. Are you gonna touch my dick or what?”

Seijuurou thought about it. He thought about it a lot, in fact.

And then he came to the conclusion that he needed to stand up before his feet fell asleep.

“So, is that a no?” Matsuoka audibly frowned as Seijuurou’s knees creaked in protest to his movement.

Seijuurou dropped his pants and briefs on the spot and threw his shirt down hopefully nearby—a personal record, probably, if he had been keeping time—before reaching out to carefully feel for some part of Matsuoka’s body. His hand collided with something distinctly fleshy and firm, and he stroked downwards until his fingers encountered a nub.

“ _Oh._ ”

Encouraged by Matsuoka’s positive reaction, he gave it a light pinch and rolled it between his fingers.

“Tease,” Matsuoka hissed.

“Like you aren’t?”

Matsuoka snorted and playfully patted him on the cheek before giving him a light peck on the lips. How he managed to do that perfectly in the dark eluded Seijuurou, but that was probably his lowest concern at the moment.

“So, um. I have no idea how to suck a dick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me an hour to format this and I want to die.
> 
> ETA: Fixed some formatting errors. Now with more paragraph breaks!


End file.
